


Cherry Flavoured

by hdarchive



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Skank!Kurt, jock!blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If they're not under the bleachers then they don't mean anything to each other. Even though Kurt really wants them to, even though Blaine really doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Flavoured

**Author's Note:**

> It seems like all I do is write the badboy trope. I saw a post on Facebook about breaking somebody's windshield with Jolly Ranchers and instantly thought, 'wow, skank!kurt would do that' and then this happened. This skank!kurt is a lil bit different than my others.

There is something so hilariously wrong about kneeling on Blaine's letterman jacket.

But his knees get sore, and the ground underneath the bleachers is gross and covered in gum and other substances, so when Blaine offers it, Kurt takes it.

Blaine is so loud, his voice and his moans and his surprisingly deep groans rattle and echo off the metal of the bleachers. Kurt pulls off, takes Blaine in his hand and squeezes him, shoots a look upwards and says with his voice shot through and rough, “Maybe you should learn to be a little quieter.”

“I - you -” Blaine babbles, and leans back against a pole, his hand trying to find its way to the back of Kurt’s head to pull him closer. “Your mouth is just - very good.”

Kurt smirks, strokes Blaine’s cock once with one hand, keeping the other wrapped tight around the head. “And yours isn’t quite so eloquent.”

Before Blaine can respond, he sinks back down, taking Blaine back in his mouth and shutting his eyes and ignoring how his throat burns and his knees hurt and how Blaine is going to ruin his hair with his needy, desperate fingers.

And like Blaine always does, because Blaine has no self-control, or perhaps no consideration, or maybe because he’s used to being so physical on the football field, he shoves his hips forward and drives his cock further into Kurt’s mouth.

And Kurt, expecting this, takes it.

It would just be nice to be asked first, before getting every inch of Blaine shoved down his throat.

He makes a noise, feels his eyes water, overwhelmed by the scent and taste of Blaine (not that he’ll tell him), and sends a glare up Blaine’s way. Blaine smirks down at him, but it fades out quickly as he starts to pump his hips forward faster, that lack of self-control making itself evident in the way Blaine’s shaking, his thighs trembling and twitching underneath Kurt’s hands.

At this point, Kurt lets it all go, and lets Blaine do what he wants because once he’s this far gone there is no getting him back.

Kurt wonders why he doesn’t mind that.

Blaine says his name (his last name) and lets out a cry that imprints itself deep in Kurt’s subconscious, and stutters himself forward, stretching Kurt’s mouth and fucking his throat, and the only annoying part about all of this is that Blaine won't stop pulling his hair.

Blaine grabs a fistful and tugs on it as he comes, keeping Kurt locked around him as he finishes. It’s another thing they’ll have to work on, because if Blaine wants to keep this a secret then he can’t be leaving evidence on Kurt’s body, and well, Kurt is tired of spending all morning working on his hair only to have it ruined by Blaine’s need to grab and touch and pull.

He waits as patiently as he can, letting Blaine finish in his mouth, feeling him go soft because Blaine always overstays his visit, then pulls off, chokes a bit for air and wipes at his mouth.

This is always his least favourite part.

Blaine tucks himself back in and zips up his jeans, then reaches for Kurt’s hand to help him up. He only accepts the help because his knees hurt, and he’s still a bit - disoriented, his brain feels like it’s been rattled around.

“Uh,” Blaine starts, awkwardly, grabbing his jacket from the ground to dust it off. “Thanks for that.”

Kurt pulls himself back together, lets all his warmth go because it’s over now. “I told you,” he says coolly, and reaches into the pocket of his denim jacket for the pack of candy there. “No saying _thank you_ or _I love you_ , and if I ever hear a glimpse of pity in your voice I will bite your dick off next time. Jolly Rancher?”

He offers Blaine the ripped open package, and Blaine hesitantly takes one. “Most people have a cigarette after,” he says, then laughs.

Kurt shrugs, and pops a cherry flavoured candy into his mouth. “I don’t like the taste of smoke, or your come for that matter.”

Blaine turns red from the roots of his hair to his chin. “Anyway, thanks - I mean. Yeah. Cool, Hummel.”

Kurt sucks on the candy, the sharp, cherry flavour of it replacing the taste of Blaine, and shrugs. “Right, Anderson.”

They walk out from under the bleachers together, and this part is something Kurt isn’t used to, and this is something he knows they can’t work on. It’s just awkward. It can’t not be awkward. Blaine walks next to him and they say nothing, even though Kurt sort of wants to say something, even though he’s not really sure what.

“So I guess, uh, I’ll see you later?” Blaine asks, and Kurt knows what he means.

“Yeah, see you later,” he says, and pats Blaine on the arm. “Don’t stare at my ass as I walk away, okay?”

“Right -” Blaine’s one second from smiling when a voice comes from behind them, and Kurt locks up instinctively.

“Yo, Anderson,” Puckerman shouts, and they both whip around to see a few guys from the football team approaching them. “What’s up? Why are you talking to this kid?”

Kurt does what he always does in their presence. He ices over, slumps his shoulders and crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, like he really doesn’t care.

He’s not sure what to expect from Blaine though.

Blaine isn’t like Kurt. Blaine wears a jacket just like they do and he’s popular like they are, and the only real difference between Blaine and his team is that Blaine likes cock, and has a certain penchant for putting his in Kurt’s mouth.

The football team doesn’t know that, and Kurt knows Blaine wants to keep it that way.

It’s really just Kurt’s luck that the only human at this school capable of having sexual relations with him is Blaine Anderson, the tight end of the McKinley Titans.

He waits though. He’s not sure for what. He just knows what he hopes for.

“I’m not,” Blaine scoffs, and starts to move away from Kurt, like Kurt’s presence is a hex on him. “He asked to borrow a lighter, and now he won’t leave me alone.”

Kurt’s entire stance drops. His heart goes somewhere too, but he refuses to acknowledge the fact that it’s gone down down down.

“Excuse me?” he snaps, and steps forward to block Blaine’s path.

Because he knows what he is and he knows what Blaine is but he refuses to let Blaine do _that_ when he lets Blaine do _everything else._

It’s just an act between two humans, nothing more, nothing less, but he will not let Blaine diminish him into something that doesn’t exist.

“Whatever, Hummel,” Blaine says coldly, and tugs at the collar of his jacket like he didn’t just let Kurt kneel on it minutes before. “It’s Hummel, right?”

Kurt raises his chin up, lowers his eyes at Blaine, and knows all too sickeningly well that nothing will come from this. “It’s Kurt, actually. Hummel is just what you call me when you’re seven inches deep in -”

“Come on, man,” another voice shouts, and there’s a harsh shove at Kurt’s back and he’s forced away from Blaine. “Let’s go. We don’t wanna catch his disease when we got a football game to win tonight.”

There’s a few laughs, one from Blaine, and Kurt is forced to stand there as they all walk off.

He should have expected this, because this is just how it goes, because he is what he is and Blaine isn’t his and he doesn’t even want him, but -

It still feels like his heart’s been clean torn out of his chest, but whatever. It’s fine. Honestly.

He’s not mad at all.

-

“I’m pretty sure this is a myth, Kurt.”

“Whatever. It’s worth a shot.”

They’re crouched down low beside Blaine's car, the sounds of the football game almost beginning coming from the field behind them. It’ll be a while before anyone comes out, but they still can’t risk being seen.

“What did he even do?” Mercedes asks in a whisper, unwrapping a Jolly Rancher and popping it into her mouth.

“It doesn’t matter what he did,” Kurt hisses, and unwraps another candy to hand to Quinn. “All that matters is that I hate him.”

“Must have been bad.”

Kurt shakes his head and says, not letting the hurt bleed through, “He just - has it coming. He’s an ass.”

And I’m a fool for thinking he wasn’t.

Mercedes still looks skeptical, her pierced brow raising as she gives Kurt one last hard look. “I didn’t even know you two talked.”

“We don’t.” He sits flat on the ground and pulls the front of his jacket around him, looks down at his boots and says calmly, “I just occasionally swallow his dick underneath the bleachers.”

“Jesus christ.” Quinn groans, and says around the candy in her mouth, “Let me guess, he pretended you didn’t exist out in public.”

Kurt sends her a glare, hates how she can always catch on to everything he’s thinking. “Let’s just do this before the game starts.”

Quinn is the first one to go, pulling the Jolly Rancher out with a pop before leaning up and pressing it to the glass of Blaine’s windshield. Mercedes shortly follows, and she’s always the hesitant one, but she’s also always the more devious one. Once she sticks the candy to the window, she smirks.

Kurt finally spits his candy out, the cherry flavour reminding him too much of Blaine now. “This better work.”

He presses the candy to the glass hard, hopes for it to crack right then.

It doesn’t, but he can wait.

“This is the most petty thing I’ve ever witnessed,” Quinn says as the three of them stand back and look down at the windshield.

“Genius is the word you’re looking for,” Kurt says smugly, but he can’t quite get the bad feeling out of his chest, like smoke in his lungs from all those cigarettes he didn’t want.

“Sure.”

Mercedes comes up behind Kurt and puts her arm around his waist, pulling him in. “Now what?”

He doesn’t know.

“We wait.”

-

He’s not a good sleeper, especially not with this feeling in his chest.

God, that’s the worst part. He doesn’t want to be feeling this way, he doesn’t care at all about Blaine, but something he can’t control does and wants to and is is _is_.

There were never any feelings involved. He knew Blaine was gay, Blaine knew Kurt was willing, and they came to the conclusion that they could use each other to fill that empty space without any strings attached. Kurt wouldn’t tell anyone about Blaine. Blaine wouldn’t make Kurt feel things.

Simple enough.

So why are these stupid strings pulling at him right now?

He can’t sleep, he can never sleep, and that’s why at _1:00AM_ he is wide awake, and that is why he can hear, loud and clear, the sharp smack of a rock against his window.

Mercedes cannot stay up past midnight to save her life, so it must be Quinn. He gets up from his bed and throws on an oversized sweater, then slowly makes his way to the window, just in time for another rock to fly up and hit the glass.

He slides open the window and looks down, already hissing, “You are going to break my window -”

Another rock comes flying up, just barely missing the window, smacking against the wall. He looks down, ready to start shouting, when his voice and any words he could ever think fall flat, stop existing.

It’s -

“Good!” Blaine - it’s Blaine it’s Blaine it’s Blaine - shouts, too loud, and throws another rock, expertly missing Kurt’s face. “You broke mine!”

His mind is suddenly working backwards, because Blaine is on his front lawn at one in the morning and he is going to wake up the entire neighbourhood and it’s Blaine and why is he here and he’s mad but Kurt’s _angry_.

“You had it coming,” he says lowly, leaning over the window sill. “Don’t expect any sympathy here!”

“We need to talk!”

“Talk? But to talk you need to know who I am!”

There’s no use fighting about this, not here, so Kurt steps back and slams the window shut, Blaine’s shouting increasing. He turns and runs out of his room as silently as he can, quietly tiptoeing down the stairs until he gets to the front door.

This is a bad idea. He already knows this as he turns the doorknob and yanks the door open.

Blaine’s already there, still in his letterman jacket, his hair mussed and sticking up in multiple directions, the smell of sweat and grass rolling off of him and Kurt - gets a bit lost in it.

“How do you know where I live?” Kurt spits, standing in the middle of the doorway, not letting Blaine in.

“I asked your friend with the pink hair,” Blaine says easily, stepping past Kurt and letting himself inside. “You broke my windshield, Hummel, the entire thing is cracked. I spent all night trying to get those damn candies off.”

Kurt huffs, quietly closes the door behind Blaine and points him in the direction of the stairs. “Up. But stay quiet, because my dad will do a lot worse to you than I ever could.”

It’s once the door to Kurt’s room is closed that Blaine spins around and takes Kurt by surprise, pinning him against the door by his wrists, anger and hurt and something wild in his eyes.

“You broke my windshield,” he repeats.

Kurt holds his gaze, and prays that Blaine can’t feel the hammer of his pulse where he’s touching his skin. “You have no proof.”

“Tell that to all the Jolly Ranchers I tried to pry off with my bare hands!”

“They’re a popular candy,” Kurt says evenly. “It could have been anyone.”

“But it was you.”

“A waste of Jolly Ranchers, now that I think about it,” Kurt says thoughtfully, looking somewhere behind Blaine’s head. “I could have just slashed your tires.”

“Why?” Blaine asks, and moves his hands to grip Kurt around the middle of his arms, still holding him against the door. “I never did anything to you. We had an agreement. I - I didn’t know you hated me like that.”

“I don’t.” He can’t take this anymore, so he pushes Blaine back and away, steps around him to lean against his dresser instead. He folds his arms, fixes Blaine with a glare, and raises one brow at him. “I don’t even know who you are, and you supposedly don’t know me.”

“Is that what this is about?” Something like panic or shame crosses Blaine’s face, and he doesn’t seem to get that Kurt needs space because he steps even closer, stands right between Kurt’s legs. “You’re mad because I had to pretend I didn’t know you? You know why I did, Hummel.”

“I’m far over that now.”

He is. Really.

“You know we can’t - I can’t -” Blaine shuts his eyes and runs a hand back through his hair, lowly and roughly says, “You know what they would do if they knew -”

“I know.”

“Do you want us to be something? Are you like - in love with me?”

Kurt laughs haughtily, decides then to make Blaine give him space by holding a hand out to his chest and pushing him back. “No, I just value myself a little bit higher than being your personal dick garage.”

“I didn't really mean it, okay?” Blaine pleads, and grabs at Kurt’s sweater, bunching it up in his hand. “You could have just said something instead of - _breaking my windshield!_ Do you know how much it’ll cost to fix it?”

Kurt shrugs. “Good thing you’re rich.”

“Hummel! You are so - so infuriating.”

“And you’re an ass.”

“You’re the one who won’t even accept a thank you!”

“You want to say thank you?” Kurt snaps, too loud, too hurt. “Thank you for what? You’re thankful because I let you shove your way down my throat every week without acknowledging my existence?”

Blaine’s eyes go mad, wide, somehow colourful even in the dark of Kurt’s room. “So you do want me to like you?”

“I never said that.”

Blaine nearly screams, “What do you want from me?”

Kurt lifts one shoulder, says simply, “Nothing now.”

Blaine leans even closer, and Kurt lets him. “You’re paying for that windshield.”

“Oh please,” Kurt scoffs, and remains rigid even though his entire being is _pulsing_ for Blaine and Blaine’s body. “Your jeans cost more than I’ll make in a lifetime. I think you can handle it.”

“Why are you so mad?” Blaine snaps, and looks furiously at Kurt, eyes darting up and down the length of his body.

He leans further back against the dresser and crosses both legs, tries not to look bothered, tries to look distracted. “I’m not mad anymore. If it doesn’t benefit me, I find I can’t hold onto grudges.”

“You _shattered_ my _windshield_ , so you must be mad at something!”

“Once again, I repeat, I’m not mad, I just have a strong feeling you lack the skills to show me a good time, which is what I’m currently searching for,” Kurt says icily, and looks down at his nails. He wonders what colour to paint them next. Something with glitter? But glitter is such a bitch to get off - “So yes, I am a bit bummed, but that’s it.”

Suddenly there’s rattling, there’s pushing, there are hands underneath his thighs and he’s being hauled _upwards_ then dropped onto the top of his dresser, his knees now coming up to hit just below Blaine's chest. It only took a second or two, the blink of an eye really, but the whole world feels different and shifted and shaken.

Blaine has to look up at him even more now, but Kurt feels so small.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Kurt admits breathlessly, and hates himself for being so caught off guard, hates himself because he can feel where each individual finger had pressed into his thighs.

“I lift weights heavier than you,” Blaine says, voice so much closer and quiet than it’s ever been before.

Kurt smirks, and has the presence of mind to cross his arms and lift an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to turn me on?”

Blaine shrugs, and leans forward, pushes his way between Kurt’s legs and places his hands on either side of him. “I don’t know, is it working?”

With how close Blaine is now, they can both tell it is.

Kurt goes blank.

Blank is bad, because blank means no defense, no hardened expression, no guard to keep Blaine out.

But he doesn’t want Blaine out.

Oh, no.

He wants Blaine in.

He kinda always has, hasn’t he?

“Then get to it already.”

He says it so calmly, but there isn’t a single cell in him that feels that way.

Blaine’s the one to blank then, tilting his head to one side, mouth falling open. “What?”

“Did you hit your head tonight?” Kurt bites, and raises a hand to thread his fingers through Blaine’s hair, still tough with gel. And he’s seconds from begging and pleading but he keeps it in. “Fuck me.”

Shock hardens Blaine’s expression, and when he leans back and away Kurt’s heart lurches.

“Wait, really?”

He looks down at his nails again and kicks his feet out playfully, says without letting Blaine know how fast his heart is racing, “I’m giving you a free pass to the master class, just this once.”

Blaine still looks hesitant. “You know I’ve never -”

Kurt forces out a laugh and pins his glare on Blaine. “Don’t think you can do it?”

“You just never let me touch -” Blaine sighs, shuts his eyes, then finishes, “You never let me uh, touch you.”

There’s a reason for that.

Because I’d never want you to stop.

“I am now,” he says, and closes his legs around Blaine, crosses his ankles behind him. “Unless . . you don’t want to.”

His heart is balanced on the tip of a pin, but it doesn’t matter which way it falls, it still hurts.

Blaine looks down, thinking to himself, and Kurt stops breathing because every second that passes is a thought going through Blaine’s mind, deciding if he wants Kurt or not, and Kurt is not a choice or a decision and he is _not_ an option.

He tries to hop off the dresser, but Blaine grabs his hips hard and shoves him back. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”

Oh, thank god. Kurt’s sigh of relief punches its way out of him.

“You’ll find a way,” he says surely, but shrugs. “I don’t care.”

“Just - promise if I mess up you won’t take it out on my car again.”

Kurt holds up his hand, crosses two fingers together and says, “I promise.”

Blaine huffs out his laugh, tips his head down, and he’s shaking.

Shaking, like he’s nervous.

He’s never been nervous before.

He’s _Blaine_.

“Okay,” Blaine says, and just as fast as he had lifted Kurt up, he tugs at Kurt’s sweatpants, his boxers, easy to slip and slide off his legs, leaving Kurt in his sweater, loose and baggy over his lap.

It’s fine. He’s been in this exact position before. It’s fine.

His goddamn pulse doesn’t seem to agree, his lungs suddenly compressed and tight and his eyes - they can’t stop looking at Blaine.

This is why he can’t go blank, this is why he can’t be exposed, this is why he needs every layer of all his clothes oh god this was a mistake and he’s going to say something he really shouldn’t -

Blaine’s touch is far from delicate. He wraps his hands underneath Kurt’s knees and shoves them up to his chest, pushing him back and bending him, every movement performed like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Kurt falls backwards, hits the wall, can’t fall any further but Blaine’s hands make it feel like he really, honestly can.

There’s a dry finger on him, right where he’s tight and sensitive and right where he’s always wanted Blaine and right where he never thought he’d have him. He has to hold back his gasp, because he will not be desperate for Blaine, he does not need Blaine, he does not need Blaine knowing he needs _needs_ Blaine.

“Wet your fingers,” he says roughly, bites over his lip and curls his hands into fists and still feels the sensation of falling.

Blaine doesn’t hesitate, sliding two fingers into his own mouth, pulling them out with a wet pop before reaching down and stroking Kurt, passing right over Kurt, the slightest, barest touch but it’s more than enough. Kurt clenches down and can’t hold his breath in anymore, gasps out, “Oh fuck.”

Blaine grins.

“You need -” He places one hand on Blaine’s shoulder for balance, bends down the slightest bit to slide open the top drawer of the dresser, digging through his assortment of socks until he finds a box of condoms, lube, things that make Blaine lose his confidence, make his face go red.

“I -” Blaine stammers, then promptly snaps his mouth shut and meets Kurt’s eyes, nodding at him. He pushes Kurt’s legs up even further, bends him in half, and Kurt’s neck and back are sore from being pressed into the wall but he can’t move, he doesn’t want to move. It’s comforting knowing there’s something to support him as Blaine makes him fall apart.

With his touch more wet, Blaine traces two fingers around Kurt’s hole, and never fucking looks away from him, entranced by something in Kurt’s face. Kurt’s the one who has to look away, huffing out in annoyance, turning to stare off to the side. “You put them inside,” he says lowly, hissing when Blaine’s fingertip just barely presses in. “In case - in case that wasn’t obvious.”

Still staring, always staring, Blaine says, “I know.”

He pushes in then, and Kurt blanks out.

They both say something at the same time, but Kurt can’t tell what. They both breathe loudly, but Kurt can only focus on his. Their bodies are connected together, and they’ve been connected before, but not like this.

Blaine laughs, choppy and low and surprised, _happy_. “Wow.”

“Shut up -” Kurt grits out, curls one hand around the edge of the dresser and digs in, uses the other hand to tug at the curls at the back of Blaine’s neck.

Oh god, it’s just - it’s not a lot, but it’s so much. It scares him, this scares him, because he doesn’t know Blaine. Not at all. Their time underneath the bleachers isn’t spent talking, just touching touching touching and and taking what they need from each other and never looking at each other.

He’s seen Blaine in the halls with his jacket on and his team behind him and he’s seen Blaine’s face when he’s got his hand down Blaine’s pants for a quick handjob before gym class. Two different people, and he’s thought in the past that he knows which one is real but he doesn’t, Kurt doesn’t know him.

Yet he completely and entirely _wants_ him.

So he lets him.

One finger turns into two, two turns into three, and all Kurt can think besides yes yes please is _he smells like grass._

So he says it. “You smell like grass,” he says distantly, though it’s hard to narrow his eyes when Blaine’s thrusts are quickening, when his fingers are spreading. “And sweat.”

“We won the football game,” Blaine grunts, pushing his fingers all the way in and stilling.

“Good for you.”

Blaine pulls out, then pushes in even harder, a snap of his wrist that has Kurt keening out loud. “I didn’t get to shower afterwards because Puck told me somebody ‘Jolly Ranchered’ my car.”

“Still not -” His breath catches on the next thrust. It’s a fraction of what he can take but it’s so much. “- sorry.”

“I don’t - understand you,” Blaine grunts, and snarls, and looks almost animalistic up at Kurt.

Unable to focus or breathe properly, unable to control anything, Kurt looks down at Blaine hopelessly, desperately, not a shred of sharpness anywhere in his expression. “I never said you - should - fuck -”

Three turns to four and four is almost too much but he needs _more_.

Blaine’s snarl fades out, replaced by a look of horror, eyes wide as he stares blatantly down to where he’s stretching Kurt. “Is it supposed to be this tight?”

Blaine’s questions always make him laugh.

“Not if you do your job right,” he says, and finds he can’t be vicious about it.

Blaine nods, and this is why he can’t be mean, Blaine looks focused and intent and when Kurt gasps again, he smiles softly, almost - fondly, like he’s proud of himself.

At that, Kurt tries to sit up more, can’t stand another second of waiting, needs that stretch _now_. “I’m good.”

And at that, Blaine freezes, and fixes Kurt with a hard glare. “You don’t feel like it.”

“Oh, so you’re the expert now?” Kurt says, and still can’t be harsh, laughing as he reaches up to push at Blaine’s shoulder, ushering him away.

Blaine looks down again, and says quietly, “I just don’t want to hurt you, Kurt.”

There are a million things he thinks then.

The first thought being _you already did._

The next being -

“You called me Kurt.”

Blaine frowns and says, “That’s your name.”

It’s only ever been Hummel, only really been Anderson, because there’s something clinical and simple and formal about using each other’s last names and never their first.

“Right.” He shakes his head, tells himself it’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s not anything, and says, testing it out on his tongue, “Well, _Blaine_ , I’m good.”

Blaine doesn’t argue, and he takes Kurt’s hand and holds it tightly, helping him off the dresser.

Kurt can’t stop himself from staring down at Blaine’s hand curled around his.

It’s weird.

Nothing nothing nothing it’s _nothing_.

He’s just more nervous than he’s ever been, laying back on the bed, exposed from the waist down. More nervous than ever because Blaine’s looking at him. But no. He won’t be nervous. This is nothing. This is an act between two bodies and soon it will be over and he’ll be onto the next.

He takes off his last layer and pulls the sweater over his head, throws it somewhere on the ground, and leans back on his elbows, staring up at Blaine with one tilted brow.

“Wow,” Blaine huffs, and shucks off his jacket before kneeling on the bed.

Kurt flushes, thankful for the dark now, hopes Blaine doesn’t see how red his entire body is. “Don’t hear that one everyday,” he mumbles, and ignores the urge to curl in on himself and hide.

“Almost makes me want to forgive you for, you know, _destroying my windshield_.”

“When will you get over that?”

“As soon as you apologize.”

Blaine settles over Kurt’s legs, the denim of his jeans rough and odd over Kurt’s bare skin. He has a barrier and Kurt doesn’t, and he has protection but Kurt doesn’t, and Kurt’s the one who’s been hurt here not Blaine, so he does it.

“I’ll apologize as soon as you apologize for -” But no, it was nothing, he’s not mad, he shouldn’t be mad, because if he were mad then that would mean something. “Nevermind. Just, hurry up.”

But Blaine keeps looking at him weird, starts to lean over his body until Kurt is forced flat on his back. He looks away, at the wall, ready to put his mind somewhere else and ignore what he’s feeling inside so he can feel on the outside.

“You’re actually mad, aren’t you?”

He bites over his lip and shuts his eyes, holds it all in for a moment. “Can you just - please -”

“It hurt your feelings.”

Blaine doesn’t sound amused or humoured, but that’s how Kurt takes it.

“I’m serious,” he snaps, and tries to sit up. “I’m more than okay with doing this myself -”

He doesn’t get a chance to do anything. There’s a hand to his chest, pushing him back, and there’s another hand wrapping around one of his thighs, forcing his legs apart.

Kurt spreads so easily.

Things happen so quickly; there’s the sound of Blaine undoing his belt with one hand, shoving his pants down as much as he can. There’s the tear of the condom being opened between Blaine’s teeth, and there’s a brief second of panic when Blaine takes his hands off of him to roll the condom on, and there’s an even longer second of desperation when Blaine smears more lube against Kurt’s hole and Kurt cries loud with his need.

He won’t need Blaine he can’t need Blaine he has to refuse and refuse and refuse -

There’s nothing in him that can anymore.

Kurt lifts his legs up for Blaine, and Blaine lines himself up, and before Kurt can think or blink or breathe he’s pushing in and Kurt’s entire body is a chorus of yes yes _yes_.

There’s everything in him now, and he doesn’t dare refuse.

For someone who just doesn’t care about logistics or feelings or reality, he sure thinks about those things a lot. Like right now, as Blaine slowly sinks in and Kurt feels the sting and the burn and the width of Blaine stretching him, he wants to think about what he feels.

Too much.

For far too long.

He thinks about how this is Blaine’s first time - first time touching him, first time doing this, the first time Kurt hasn’t had to tell Blaine what to do or how to do it.

Blaine seems to just - know, like this is instinct, like this is meant to happen.

When he’s all the way inside, completely connected, Kurt’s on the edge of not being able to process thoughts anymore. It’s a lot. There’s a part of Blaine inside of him that's never been there before and Kurt has to find a new way to exist around him.

“Blaine -” It slips from his lips and he doesn’t even realize it until a few seconds later.

The chorus of _yes_ has turned into a chorus of _Blaine Blaine Blaine_ , and he can’t stop it.

He wraps his legs around Blaine, scrapes his heels down his back, shoving Blaine’s jeans further down his ass. There’s too much to focus on and feel. Blaine’s arms on either side of him, Blaine’s eyes entirely on him, the friction of Blaine’s jeans against his bare thighs, it’s all so much and Kurt’s mind is precise, likes to have things in order, neat, likes to know what he’s feeling and why but this -

This is everywhere and this is everything and Kurt isn’t in control of a single fucking thing and it is terrifying.

But then Blaine picks up his own rhythm, reading something in the lines of Kurt’s body and saying it out loud with his own. He pushes in deep and fast and _stays there_ , like he knows Kurt doesn’t want him to go, then slowly pulls back out.

For someone who thinks too much, right now Kurt finds he can’t think at all.

Too much and too much and too much, Kurt takes it all in, every press of skin, every sound, every jolt of pain and pleasure and increasingly deep, deep pressure.

He gets through his days by getting lost in something else, some place off in his mind, where he can come up with stories and words and situations without ever having to worry about the ending.

That’s why this is so scary. He doesn’t know.

And he should not be trusting Blaine to give it to him.

“You feel so -” Blaine’s harsh, loud voice right above his lips has Kurt slipping back into reality, realizing then that the bed is shaking and squeaking and Blaine’s thrusts have become erratic.

“I feel so what?” Kurt prompts when Blaine falls short, digging his fingers into Blaine’s shirt and twisting it.

“Good, Kurt,” Blaine groans, and drops his head down until their foreheads are touching. “You feel so good.”

That close, every loud sound in the world drowns out, and then it’s just silence.

Kurt loses track of the seconds, just knows he can’t get his eyes to shut, can’t look away from Blaine, his long lashes fanned out over his cheeks, his lip caught between his teeth as he quickens his pace.

“I -”

He’s not sure what he was going to say. There’s just something in Blaine that digs words out of him, makes him lose control of his most important function; his ability to speak.

He realizes then that the worst part wasn’t having something to say but not knowing what.

The worst part was always and is always having something to say, but knowing you shouldn’t say it.

He knows exactly what he was going to say.

He still wants to say it.

What is it about him? He doesn’t know him. He’s just a person. Kurt’s dealt with people, people of all varieties, and they’ve all made him feel different things, different highs and lows and different depths of light and dark.

There’s just a difference here. Something in Blaine’s skin that makes Kurt want to touch, something in his scent and air that sticks to the inside of Kurt’s lungs and makes it so hard to breathe, something about him that makes Kurt envision images he never once wanted to.

And Kurt doesn’t know him.

But he’s met a lot of people in his life so far.

So he figures there are worse things to be addicted to.

“Kiss me.” He doesn’t even hear himself say it.

Blaine does. His thrusts stop, his arms start to shake, he pulls his head and body back and asks, “What?”

“Shut up and - kiss me.”

For a half second Blaine looks unsure, and during the entirety of that half second Kurt is paralyzed with fear.

The next half is spent moving even closer, closer than they’ve ever been.

Every second after that is spent together, and Blaine tastes exactly how Kurt imagined he would.

Kurt wonders if there’s a way to suspend time, because he doesn’t want to live another second apart.

He splays his hand out over the back of Blaine’s neck, feels the sweat and heat across his skin and wishes they could just stay here forever, because he’s not going to remember every detail once Blaine pulls out.

“Well don’t stop fucking me,” he says between kisses, and nips at Blaine’s lower lip. “Keep going.”

Blaine laughs, and to feel it right against his own lips, Kurt’s heart _stutters_.

He’s realizing a lot of things. Maybe there’s a reason Blaine’s thrusts become more jerky and quick, maybe there’s a reason he always escapes Kurt’s control and his words and does what he does and takes what he needs, and maybe there’s a reason Kurt always lets him.

He wants him to.

Nothing containing him or holding him back, Blaine surges forward harshly and Kurt thinks he might snap right in half, he can’t possibly bend anymore or take this anymore but he does he does he does and he wants to so bad and he hopes, he hopes even more, that Blaine wants to, too.

Kurt doesn’t need to touch himself, rubbing against the fabric of Blaine’s shirt is enough, and being filled by Blaine right where Blaine’s never been before is more than enough. He comes into his hand, and he blanks out, and he’s defenseless but he wants this, and the last coherent thought he has is that Blaine’s mouth still tastes faintly of cherry.

Or something else that’s sweet.

Better than any drug could ever be.

But then Blaine comes, and as pretty as he sounds, as good as he feels, the song changes quickly and soon the chorus is no no no -

Don’t let this be over.

Then it’s back to clothes and light and harsh words and a fight that he doesn’t want to fight.

Not anymore.

The room is quiet now. Kurt’s able to control his breath, in and out easily. Blaine can’t, panting heavily as he leans and shifts over Kurt, reaching down with one hand to pull himself out.

Kurt hopes Blaine doesn’t notice how much his breath hitches at that.

Then they lay there.

And this is the hard part, Kurt’s least favourite part.

So much to say. No courage to say it.

“How was that?” Blaine asks, a stupidly hopeful expression plastered across his face.

Kurt remains stoic, lifts one shoulder just barely and says, “A for effort.”

He blinks, and there must be a few seconds where he blanks out because when he opens his eyes Blaine is standing and fully dressed. He hands Kurt his sweater, his eyes lingering on Kurt’s body, but Kurt can’t pinpoint where specifically.

He takes it, the soft material unusual in his hands after having his hands all over Blaine. “Thanks.”

Blaine smirks, and steps a bit closer. “I thought we weren’t supposed to say thank you.”

Kurt’s stomach flips, his eyes go wide, his mouth falls open and he barely gets out, “I wasn’t -”

Blaine’s smirk turns into something else, still too confident and knowing, but somehow unknowing too.

“You confuse me, Hummel.”

Kurt pulls the sweater on, but doesn’t feel more protected with it on, raises one brow and asks, “How so?”

Blaine comes right up to him, like he’s not afraid anymore, like he never really was, and reaches out to push Kurt’s hair back from his face.

Kurt doesn’t flinch.

“I can’t tell if you hate me or not.”

With Blaine’s hands on him, it’s hard to lie, but he smiles primly and says sweetly, “I despise you.”

Blaine only smiles, but it quickly falters.

“I’m sorry for what I said, to uh, to the guys,” he mumbles, and takes his hand away, lets it hang by his side. Kurt wants it back. “I just - didn’t know what to do, or what you wanted me to do.”

“I’m used to it,” Kurt says evenly, and holds Blaine’s gaze, and thinks -

Wait.

“I know this doesn’t mean anything to you, but it’s - it’s something to me.” Blaine smiles and for the first time ever, he looks shy. “You’ve helped me a lot.”

No, wait, it means everything you idiot, can’t you see -

But Kurt can’t get mad, or hold it against him, he can’t, it’s his own fault, for knowing what he wants to say but holding back from saying it.

“Lots to improve on,” Kurt mumbles, and looks down at his lap. “Half of that felt like a dog humping my leg.”

Miraculously, Blaine smiles, and lets out a breathy laugh. “I don’t mind learning.”

 _Say something say something say something_ \- Kurt nods. “Right.”

The air falls awkward, like it always does, because Kurt can’t make it be anything else.

“So do I just -” Blaine crosses his arms and looks towards the door. “Leave now?”

“Did you get everything you came for?”

Blaine pauses, presses his lips together and thinks, looking down at Kurt for a long moment.

Whatever he’s thinking about passes, because he sighs and says, “I guess so.”

“Then yes.” Kurt reaches for his boxers, ignores the sensation of falling that still hasn’t faded, living sickeningly in his heart now. “Have a good night.”

He only looks up when he’s sure Blaine has turned away. Wearing that letterman’s jacket, he’s something Kurt can’t ever have, can only touch for a brief few seconds, and only if those few seconds take place in the dark.

He still wants him.

“Hey, Blaine,” he calls out, and feels sick with nerves, his throat closing up tight.

Blaine turns back around just before he gets to the door. “Yeah?”

It’s not what he wants to say, but it’s all he can control.

“My dad is a mechanic. If you bring your car by his shop, tell him I sent you and he should be able to help.”

Blaine’s smile comes instantly, and Kurt’s nerves melt away.

“Thank you.”

He pauses, and then he smiles back.

“You’re welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> [here](http://holdingdaylight.tumblr.com/post/148260032044/summary-if-theyre-not-under-the-bleachers-then) on tumblr now too!


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